


Peacemaker Connections

by jackalope13



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Bulshar is Awake, Canon Compliant, F/F, F/M, Gen, Original Character(s), The Curse is ON
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29672610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackalope13/pseuds/jackalope13
Summary: (This arc takes place after season 2 ends but before season 3 begins.) In the months after BoBo broke the third seal and Bulshar awoke, an immortal warrior is beckoned by Wyatt Earp’s Buntline Special, Peacemaker, to the Ghost River Triangle. Her task is to protect and inspire Wynonna and the team as they prepare for their upcoming showdown with Bulshar. The magic in the fabled pistol connects the unknowing Earp heir and her found family to the Highlander Treva MacGregor.A huge thanks goes out to @New54321 for doing the heavy lifting of the beta work and for all their encouragement.
Relationships: Waverly Earp & Wynonna Earp, Wynonna Earp & Nicole Haught, Wynonna Earp & Treva MacGregor, Wynonna Earp/Doc Holliday, Xavier Dolls/Wynonna Earp
Comments: 7
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this in 2018, posted it here, then deleted it because it needed A LOT of work. I've created an original character who comes into the lives of our beloved found family in Purgatory. It's definitely a take on Highlander but with a twist. This is not about "there can be only one" at all. Please bear with me and my use of Scottish Gaelic dialect & subsequent translations here in Ch. 1. It occurs every now and then throughout the rest of the work in very small snippets, but I feel it's essential here as it helps establish our protagonist, Treva MacGregor. Yes, I did research about the Highlands and the MacGregors among other things. I hope you like Treva and are willing to give her a chance to get to know her.

In the Highlands of Scotland in 1329, for the first time a girl was born to Clan MacGregor.

A clan blessed by the Druids in ancient times, the MacGregors of Argyll were chosen to be the defenders of all that was virtuous and honorable in the world. With this blessing came special skills as well as supernatural powers to be used in the destruction of the evil-both human and demonic-that always lurks in the shadows. Legend tells of how all MacGregor men only married Highland women who then would give birth to more MacGregor males but never females. A MacGregor man could die a peaceful death at the hands of an enemy with the knowledge that he had left at least one son to carry on the name and duty of the clan. However, that tradition ended when Treva MacGregor was born. Sadly, her mother did not survive the rigors of childbirth; this left her father, Tevis, to raise her the only way he knew how-as a MacGregor son. Yet, he loved his daughter and saw her as a miracle as opposed to an aberration. Needless to say the clan was divided over the birth of a MacGregor female. Some believed she was a punishment for her father marrying not a Highlander but rather an Irish woman he met when traveling with his raiding party. Others say the Irish woman died because she was not hardy enough to bear a Child of the Mist. Still others saw the child as a message-a miracle even-to be interpreted by the Druids. Despite the disagreement of many, the last of the remaining druids marked the child’s arms with the ancient sigils and runes offering their blessings upon her as they did for every newborn son; they knew and even foretold that this infant girl was a unique child meant to do remarkable things in the centuries to come. The magic of the druids infused the infant with the same abilities as all other MacGregor heirs save for one attribute that none other possessed and would not be revealed until her twenty-first _Earrach_ or spring equinox.

Because she was spurned by most of the village including the elders in charge of training the young boys, Tevis took charge of his daughter’s instruction at their farm. From an early age he taught her to fight using the traditional Highland weapons of Claymore sword and shield which were endowed with Gaelic runes, to utilize her gifts of speed, strength, intuition, and to defend herself from the attacks of those who saw her as a curse. Thus, it was never safe for Treva to venture into the _clachan_ alone; she was always in danger of attack even from the women who would throw rotten food at her as their children would call her horrible names while hurling stones. Instead of fighting the monsters and scourge of the earth alongside her clan brethren, she fought for her very existence. Although this toughened her resolve, it did not harden her heart.

As Treva grew, she aged normally. However, in 1350 upon her twenty-first Earrach, something changed. At the exact moment of her birth in the early hours before dawn, Treva awoke to a surge of energy flowing through her body. Opening her eyes, she found herself surrounded by hues of indigo and leapt from her bed in anticipation of an attack. As she peered around the cottage frantically, the young woman thought she saw shadowy figures veiled within the luminescence. Rubbing her eyes to remove the gritty sleep, she shook her head looking again but saw nothing in the dissipating light. The Highland daughter assumed she had been hallucinating. However, her body was quivering although neither from fright nor cold. It seemed to be doing so as a result of absorbing the incandescence. As the light disappeared into her body, the tremors became more violent dropping Treva to her knees. She felt as if she were dying as every fiber in her body was painfully vibrating. What she did not know was that her body was completing its transformation into the immortal warrior the Druids had created. Not being able to withstand the energy of the light, Treva lost consciousness. When she awoke curled in a ball on the floor several hours later, the young woman was unable to ascertain whether what she had experienced was real or a dream. It would be weeks until the truth was unveiled to her.

Not long after this her father was killed under dubious circumstances. Knowing she could no longer stay in her _clachan_ without the tenuous protection of her father, Treva left her Highland village vowing to honor her father’s memory by destroying evil wherever possible. Having walked for several uneventful days, Treva was beset upon by a band of five _caterans_ who had been following her at a distance. These raiders attacked so quickly that she had no time to think and simply reacted on instinct. She drew her Claymore which was faintly glimmering a soft blue, swung it at the first attacker who came charging at her on horseback and cut off his lower leg. He fell from his horse spewing blood over the horse's shoulder and forearm as he cried out in agony. The rider died not long after landing in the grass and leaves in a bloodied heap. No sooner had she turned around when the next cateran was upon her only he was on foot. She deftly defended his sword strikes using her shield, then ran him cleanly through the gut as soon as an opening presented itself; he crumpled to the ground and died quickly. At this, two more raiders rushed her tackling her to the ground. One of them pinned Treva’s arms above her head as the other approached with a knife. It appeared he was intent on cutting her throat. He never got the chance, though, as Treva quickly broke the grip of the bandit restraining her, clasped her hands together and brained him in the forehead. He fell to the side convulsing as blood flowed from his nose. Treva then swept the feet out from under the knife-wielding raider who hit the ground with a resounding thud. She was atop him instantly as she grabbed the knife that was intended for her and slit the man’s throat. When she looked over her shoulder for the remaining thug, all that could be seen was his hasty retreat as he ran away. Minor cuts and bruises were visible, but they healed almost instantly. The more this young warrior engaged in battle, the stronger she became. Although Treva would be gravely injured on multiple occasions, death never called for her; she always recovered from what should have been mortal wounds. This was the gift the druids had given her that no other MacGregor son received-that of immortality. This woman was born to fight the evil that would come in the centuries long past the time of druids and magic. For that she would need to live through the crucible of the wars of the world to prepare her for the arduous battles she would face in modern times.

**Two hundred years have passed since those horrible days in her clachan. She is still in Scotland, but the year is 1550. Technically, the Highlander is 221 years old, however, by now she has discerned that she ages roughly one year for every 50. Physically, she is only 25. Her family and clan that knew her are all long dead. However, the woman is still in danger from other unearthly predators. She has found her way into a typical small pub that is frequented by highwaymen, drifters, degenerates-the sort she is hunting as well as avoiding.**

Exhausted, wounded, and thirsty from both travel and battle, Treva MacGregor wanders into the poorly lit hovel.

She sits in the corner near the fire where she can see the door and begins to assess the damage of yet another skirmish with those who pursue her. Large, heavy furs and baggy clothing disguise her slight feminine frame. Yet there is always one thing in plain sight for all to see - the green and red with white stripes MacGregor Clan tartan fastened with a crowned lion’s head broach draped across her shoulder. She wore it proudly as her father wore his and his father before. Only, she should have been her father’s first-born son and not the girl, the woman she is now. As Treva begins to feel the aches and pains of her latest injuries, she is interrupted by a curvaceous barmaid who delivers a tankard of _Fraoch_ (Scottish Heather ale).

In her Scottish brogue Treva says gratefully, “Ah, th' cure fur whit ails me. Mony cheers”( _Ahhh, the cure for what ails me. Many thanks_ ).

Grabbing the tankard, she takes a long drink savoring the spiced ale with its honey afterglow. Closing her eyes to pay homage in silent prayer to her father, thoughts of his kind face fill her memory; however, she is jerked back to reality by a stench that sickens the taste of her favorite ale. Opening her eyes while gripping the twisted hilt of her sword with her left hand under the table, she sees two men standing in front of her. Both are beyond hope or repentance with glowing red eyes. They are assassins sent to kill her; their mission is to prevent her from completing the tasks of the future which were foretold upon her birth.

Sullenly, the warrior says, “Och, bugger me! Didnae ah awready murderr ye twa” ( _Aye, fuck me! Didn’t I already kill you two_ )?

Unfazed the two men continue to stare intently at her.

She continues, “Ah’m fauchelt, loupin, 'n' peely-wally from th' reek o' ye hell hounds. _(I’m tired, sore, and sick from the smell of you hell hounds.)_ Noo nuck aff while ah huv a go tae gilravage me pint” ( _Now nick off while I try to enjoy my pint)._

“MacGregor, ye ken wha we ur 'n' how come wur 'ere ( _MacGregor, you know who we are and why we’re here_ ), growled the smelly one revealing rotting teeth. “Th' reward is stoatin fur delivering yer heid tae oor laird” _(The reward is great for delivering your head to our lord_ ). Since his comrade was rather twitchy and unhinged, he mostly drooled, mumbled incoherently, and struggled to focus his eyes never uttering an intelligible sound.

Through clenched teeth Treva replied, “Wouldn't ye ower bide yin mair day ( _Wouldn’t you rather live one more day)_? Ye'll return tae hell this nicht if ye press me” ( _You’ll return to hell this night if you press me_ ). Still seated Treva then slowly shifted her feet under her and silently drew her sword.

“Ye die 'ere! Noo ( _You die here! Now!)!_ bellowed the foul-smelling one.

With that Treva stood up, flipped the table along with her pint into the two fiends and neatly sliced their heads off in one sweeping motion. Before their shuddering bodies hit the floor, she sat back down in her chair and reached absentmindedly for the tankard that was no longer there. The Highlander shook her head at the waste of a pint and muttered to herself, “How come cannae ah ever gilravage a wheesht dram” (Why can’t I ever have a quiet drink)?


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Centuries have gone by as Treva MacGregor has traveled the continents carrying out her clan’s birthright. It is 2018; the Highlander is now approximately 35 years old and finds herself in the Ghost River Triangle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, you're back for chapter 2. Thanks so much! Now that we have a little backstory on Treva, let's see what's going on with her in the 21st century. Don't worry, she and Wynonna will be introduced soon enough. Have a little patience. 
> 
> Thanks very much to @New54321 for the beta work and suggestions. By the way, you should check out her latest work "Painted Walls and Hardwood Floors."

**Centuries have gone by as Treva MacGregor has travelled the continents carrying out her clan’s birthright. It is 2018 and the Highlander is now approximately 35 years old.**

A slightly older Scottish woman enters a smokey dank bar frequented by lowlifes, thugs, and unsavory bottom feeders. Things have not changed much in the way of dive bars and their patronage. Once more the warrior is weary from her long journey and many conflicts. She has traversed the world fighting evil in all its forms throughout the ages. And now she has been called to an area known as the Ghost River Triangle more specifically to a town named Purgatory. All traces of her Highlander roots are largely erased or disguised. The servants of hell who still pursue her look for obscure hints of a Scottish accent or mannerisms from long ago to betray her identity. Because of this, she ceased using her full name centuries ago and is known only as Mac. The clan tartan with broach no longer rests on her shoulder but has been replaced by a tattoo over her heart with the motto “Rioghal Mo Dhream” ( _Royal is my Race_ ) rolling over it with a small ribbon of green, red, and white tartan. She scans the area as she walks into the bar limping somewhat.

“What can I get ya?” the barkeep asks indifferently.

“Ahhhh, a fine pint of Heather ale would cure what ails me,” Mac wistfully replies.

The barkeep stares blankly at her and points over his shoulder as he says, “Ain’t got no ale er whatever. All’s we got is what ya see up here on tha shelf.” He returns to his work without waiting for her reply.

Looking up, Mac sees various bottles of IPAs, lagers, pilsners, stouts, and Kolsch style beers.

Sighing in disappointment, she resigns herself to choosing a bottle with a boar’s head on the label. “Guess I’ll settle for that one,” pointing to a stout.

As he hands her an opened bottle, Mac glances around one more time and decides to take a seat at the bar but chooses one that faces the door.

It has been eons since she has had to hide her 5’7” one hundred fifty pound feminine frame from her enemies. Gone are the baggy garments replaced now by tactical gear that fits snuggly allowing for ease and speed of movement. Underneath is lightweight body armor made of Kevlar although she misses the sound of the old chainmail as it clinked in rhythm to her stride and the smell of leather from her gauntlets every now and then.

Sipping on her ale, the warrior assesses her current injuries while surveying the interior of her surroundings noticing that there are few other people in the establishment. A bloody gash on her forearm is already sealing itself while the bruised eye is swiftly turning multiple shades of black, green, and yellow as it mends. Healing quickly is just one of the gifts from the Druids. It’s probably a good idea that the bartender didn’t pay her much attention and doesn’t notice the rapid recovery taking place. Mac decides that the situation is benign enough to risk a question of him.

Trying to be as innocuous as possible, she queries, “Say, bud, can I ask you a question?”

The man just stares back at her, so she decides to proceed. “I’m here looking for a friend, maybe you might have heard of her.”

He is listening but unmoved as he continues drying glasses.

“Her name is Michelle, Michelle Gibson. Do you know her?”

As he shakes his head to indicate that he does not, Mac continues, “Yeah, I didn’t think so, but it was worth a try anyway.” She takes another drink when an old familiar emanation pervades her senses. Mac lifts her eyes to see two disheveled men have entered the bar-one rather jittery and slobbering, the other wreaking of blood and death.

Angrily Mac exclaims, “Aw, son of a bitch! Are you kidding me? I am so tired of killing you two!” In frustration Mac allows her Scottish brogue to slip out, “Ye howlin bassas” ( _You smelly bastards_ )!

Growling and snarling, the odiferous one replies in a demonic rasp,

“Yes-s-s-s, MacGregor, it has been many moons s-s-since last we s-s-saw you in the lands of our forefathers-s-s. Our lord has s-s-s-seen fit to resurrect

us-s-s yet again because we are the ones-s-s who always manage to find you.”

Nonchalantly, Mac replies, “OK, you found me. So, what? I’m just gonna send you back to hell again like I always do.” She drinks letting the fiend make the next move.

“That may be and s-s-such a s-s-sacrifice we are willing to make. Now that we have found you, the others-s-s are aware of your location and they will come. One way or the other, he _will_ have your head,” retorts the creature.

The bartender desperately looks back and forth between the three of them in panic, then ducks under the bar as he reaches for his phone with trembling hands.

Showing gnarled jagged teeth with remnants of flesh still stuck in the gaps, the evil creature grins malevolently. His eyes shine red as he pulls a shotgun from under his coat while his partner follows suit but reveals a sword. Mac falls from her barstool using the bar for cover. She draws her modified Claymore (now shorter for better concealment) and a small hatchet axe (a weapon she adopted after time spent with First Nation tribes in the 19th century) as buck shot whizzes over her head. Rolling to the right from behind the bar, she lands in a squatting position and hurls the axe at the head of the anxious one; it lands with a sickening thump right between his eyes. He shakes violently and falls to the floor. Mac knows the other “man” will not be as easy to defeat. He pops off a couple more shots in her direction while moving around the bar. As he racks another round, Mac gets to her feet quickly with sword in hand.

“I don’t know why you bothered with a shotgun, since you need to slice my head off in one piece. Your lord won’t take kindly to a splattered mess that he can’t recognize as me,” she arrogantly taunts.

In response to the barb, the fetid one growls, “It will s-s-slow you down enough for me to take your head and deliver it to my lord,” gnashing his teeth making a disgusting grating sound.

“Dammit!” Mac whispers as she rolls her eyes realizing she is going to have to resort to close quarter fighting and go hand to hand with this villain. She sprints towards him rounding off the wall with her left foot. He turns and swings the butt of the shot gun catching Mac on the jaw. Sliding across the floor, she gets up shaking the sting out of the hit and sees that her sword has clattered just out of reach. She braces herself for his rush, but before he reaches her, he is hit by a blue force of energy that emanates from Mac’s outstretched hands. Her eyes glimmer blue as do the sigils placed on her arms by the Druids centuries ago. The demon flies back into the wall giving Mac time to reach for her sword. With one fluid swing of the Claymore, she removes his head from its resting place. Mac retrieves her hatchet, then decisively dispatches the other in the same manner. Both disappear into a fiery flame that swallows them into the nether regions of hell.

Tossing money on the bar, Mac leaves muttering disgustedly to herself, “Why cannae ah ever just have a quiet pint by meself?” What Mac didn’t notice was the active security cameras that captured the entire event. She is gone by the time local law enforcement arrives to question the visibly shaken bartender. A burly sheriff with a grumpy attitude takes statements and confiscates the security footage.

Upon returning to the station, Sheriff Randy Nedley delivers the notes he collected at the scene of the bar fight to Deputy Marshall Xavier Dolls who is in charge of the more “supernatural” criminal activities in the Triangle.

“Dolls, this is definitely a case for you and your team,” Nedley remarks gruffly.

“Why? Wasn’t it just another bar fight?” Dolls asks disinterestedly.

“Not exactly. Someone was inquiring about Michelle Gibson. And then that someone dispatched two unlucky bastards to hell with a sword,” Nedley replies in a concerned tone.

Dolls whips around at the mention of the woman’s name. “Does Wynonna know?”

Shaking his head negatively, “Not yet,” Nedley replies. “I figured I’d give you that pleasure.”

“Thanks,” Dolls says dryly as he makes a sour face at the thought of having to tell Wynonna this news.

Nedley continues, “You should also look at the security footage. There’s something unusual there you and Wynonna need to see.”

Dolls eyes the sheriff with suspicion and immediately pulls up the footage on his laptop. After viewing it, he texts Wynonna and Waverly Earp asking them to get to the Black Badge Division office ASAP. Once they arrive, he quickly explains the bar fight and shows the video.

“Wait! What the hell? Back that up,” Wynonna says as she stares intently at the laptop screen.

“What did you see?” Waverly asks.

“No effin’ way!” Wynonna says in amazement.

Still not seeing what Wynonna is seeing, Waverly excitedly asks again, “Whaaatttt?”

As the images replay, Wynonna stops the playback to show the face and upper body of the Highlander.

Wynonna asks, “How is that possible?” pointing at the woman on the screen.

More irritated and curious than ever, Waverly slaps her sister’s arm, “WHAT is it?”

Wynonna continues excitedly, “Dolls, did you see this? You’re seeing it, too, right?”

In exasperation, Waverly says loudly, “Wynonna, what the hell are you seeing?”

“Waves, it’s her eyes. They’re blue.”

Waverly replies, “So are yours, what’s the bi--- ohhhhhhh,” and gasps understanding what Wynonna is referring to. The eyes of the woman they see are not simply blue. Instead they are emanating a blazing indigo.

“Look at her arms, Wynonna,” Dolls gestures toward the screen.

Leaning forward to scrutinize the image more closely, Wynonna asks, “What is that? Are those symbols? And they’re lit up like a blue Christmas tree, too!”

Frightened slightly, Waverly asks, “Is she a demon?”

Dolls replies, “I don’t think so. Those two guys definitely were; their eyes were red and they were consumed by flames. But she’s not; she is something else.”

“Dolls, have you ever seen anything like this in any other BBD cases?” Wynonna asks.

Even though his curiosity is highly piqued, Dolls answers calmly, “No, surprisingly not.”

Wynonna stares even more intently at the screen. “Why do those symbols look familiar? It seems like I’ve seen them before.”

“Those aren’t symbols; they are sigils and runes,” Waverly confidently supplies, but Dolls and Wynonna barely register Waverly’s information.

“Hmm, yeah, they do seem familiar; I just can’t place them yet.” Taking a deep breath, Dolls continues, “Wynonna, she was asking for your mother by name.”

Wynonna and Waverly exchange nervous looks of apprehension.

Dolls continues, “Nedley says there have been a couple other instances just like this at some other bars. She’s searching for your mom, Wynonna. Why?”

Suspicion and distrust cloud Wynonna’s face. “I don’t know, Dolls, but we are damned sure going to find out. Are there videos of these other bar fights?”

Shaking his head affirmatively, Dolls says, “I’m on it now. We’ll have copies of those videos within the hour.” He gets up and quickly heads to Nedley’s office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want a little spoiler? The introduction you've been waiting for happens next in chapter 3. Care to make any predictions on how Wynonna and Mac are going to meet? Better yet, want to guess as to what Wynonna's reaction to another strong female character is going to be? Who do you think will immediately accept Mac? I hope you're anxious to find out. Please leave comments or kudos as you see fit. (By the way, if this were a roller coaster, we are about to be at the top of the 1st big drop and then the fun really starts).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day or two later finds members of Wynonna's team at Shorty’s in Purgatory, but this is not a social occasion. Based on the confiscated video footage of the various bar fights involving a woman and strange occurrences, they have formulated a plan. The supernatural aspect of this woman is enough to make it a BBD case, but the fact that she's searching for Michelle Gibson makes it an Earp case. It is highly probable that Shorty's will be this woman's next stop, so Dolls and Wynonna plan to be there waiting for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for joining Mac on her journey to Purgatory. She's searching for Michelle Gibson, but why? What's going to happen when Wynonna catches up to Mac?

**A day or two later finds members of the team at Shorty’s in Purgatory**. **They have had time to formulate a plan.**

After seeing video footage of the other bar fights and mapping out those locations, the team deduces that Shorty’s will likely be the next destination for this mystery woman. Dolls and Wynonna decide to stake out Purgatory’s local watering hole in hopes of glimpsing the person who is inquiring about Wynonna’s mother.

It is slow in the bar without much patronage which makes the day drag on. Doc is behind the bar wiping down the worn countertop. Off in a dark corner out of sight, a hidden pair of Black Badge marshals sits quietly, waiting. An unamused Dolls watches as Wynonna picks impatiently at the label on her beer bottle. He, of course, is only drinking water. As boredom sets in and patience runs low, a lone motorcycle is heard pulling up to the saloon. The rider dismounts from a burgundy Indian Scout, removes her helmet, and hobbles in. The marshals share a look of anticipation when the saloon doors swing open. Relief runs through them both as patience for stake outs is neither of their strong suits. Wynonna whispers, “Hot damn! Finally, some action.”

“Well, good afternoon, it appears as though you might be in need of a libation of some kind,” Doc jovially greets the traveler. His eyes twinkle as he grins broadly; he is already in character as an unsuspecting bartender just doing his job being friendly with the customers.

The woman smiles and stiffly walks to the bar; cuts and bruises on her face indicate yet another recent tussle. She rubs her hip and thigh wincing a bit. Doc notices the injuries and the limp remarking, “Are you all right? Is there something I can offer you for your…pain?”

The traveler shakes her head, chuckling softly to herself. “Thank you, but no, I am fine. Just a little sore from the ride.” She shakes her legs out to loosen up the stiffness.

Doc regards her inquisitively, so she explains, “On my motorcycle, I rode here on my Indian.

Showing his understanding and empathy, Doc remarks, “I have ridden many a mile in the saddle myself. The aches and pains of the trail can make one mighty thirsty. So, what may I get you?”

Recognizing the woman’s face from the other video footage secured by Nedley, the deputy marshal and the heir agree that this stranger is the one who has been seeking information about Michelle Gibson. Furtively, Wynonna sends a text to Nicole informing her that the suspect they have been waiting for has finally arrived.

“Ahhhhhh, a fine pint of Heather ale would surely cure what ails me, good barkeep,” Mac replies hopefully but skeptically.

Blankly he looks at her as she interrupts him from saying what she has heard too many times before. Almost in a sing-song tone she says, “Let me guess, you don’t have any ale, and I should take my pick from what’s up on the shelf,” nodding toward the display of stouts and such.

Apologetically, Doc replies, “I am sorry, but we do not have any of this ale of which you speak. I can suggest an assortment of beers or maybe whiskey,” then points to the lighted shelf displaying other spirits.

Raising her hand to prevent Doc from replying with a litany of beverages, Mac says, “Whiskey is for celebrating which I am not doing today. Therefore, I’ll take whatever stout you have on draft please.”

“All right, then, coming right up, young lady.” As he pours, Doc maintains his persona of interested bartender by making eye contact with her, “I do not believe I have seen you here before. Are you passing through or possibly even staying for a bit?” He slides the tumbler, which she notices is not a proper pint glass, slowly towards her because he is trying to stall the woman to give Officer Haught time to arrive.

Replying as mundanely as possible she says, “Oh, no, just passing through. I’m trying to find an old friend,” and pauses for effect to appear as if she has come up with an idea. “Say, maybe you might know her. I haven’t had any luck finding anyone who does, though.”

Playing the game, the gunslinger continues to feign sincere interest, “What is her name? Perhaps there is a chance I have met her.”

Before answering, Mac hesitates in order to read Doc’s expression; she has played a bit of poker in one or two of her lifetimes. Then continues, “Her name is Michelle Gibson. Sound familiar?” The two are playing a very tactful game of cat and mouse.

Doc’s well-practiced poker face reveals nothing as he responds, “No, I cannot say as it does. I am truly sorry.” Covertly he nods in the direction of the duo in the dark corner for final confirmation that this is indeed the woman they have been expecting.

“That’s quite all right. It was a long shot at best.” However, Mac is rather confident this bartender knows much more than he is letting on. A smirk grows on her lips as a slight tingling somewhere deep in her thoughts begins to heighten. This little match has been quite entertaining for her.

“Well, the least I can do is buy your drink since you are new in town and all. This one is on the house,” he replies.

“Thanks, that’s very kind.” In one gulp the Highlander downs the stout and turns to leave the establishment. Over her shoulder she casually quips, “Maybe next time I’ll play a hand or two of poker with you, Doc.” Smiling knowingly she continues out the door. With his mouth agape, the gunslinger’s face is filled with amazement as the door has already closed behind her. Facing the direction of the concealed pair, he shakes his head negatively and shrugs as they scramble to get up and chase after the woman.

Outside of Shorty’s, Mac moves toward her bike but then stops with her back still to the bar as if waiting for something. The door creaks open; without turning her head, “I was wondering how many bars I would have to visit before you finally caught up to me, Wynonna.”

Shocked, Wynonna stares at Dolls with her patented WTF face then draws Peacemaker, holds it to the back of the stranger’s head, and cocks the hammer with an audible click. However, it does not begin to glow any color. Unmoved, Mac says nothing. Angrily, Wynonna demands, “Who the hell are you and why in the fuck are you my looking for my mama?”

Calmly with a bit of condescension in her voice, Mac replies, “Now, Wynonna, you know that you can’t kill me with Peacemaker; it’s not gonna let you.”

Upon hearing this Dolls and his partner are equally surprised, but this does not unnerve Wynonna.

“What do you mean, it _won’t_ let me? I am the goddamned Earp heir and Peacemaker will shoot whoever I goddamn well tell it to shoot! I’m sending you back to hell, revenant.” Her eyes narrow as she prepares for the kick that Peacemaker gives when fired. The moment Wynonna squeezes the trigger instead of recoiling, Peacemaker flashes blue zapping Wynonna. It startles her which makes her almost drop the gun. Lowering the Buntline, she shakes her hand to relieve the sting, “Son-of-a-bitch!”

“It just zapped you, didn’t it?” Mac chortles and drops her head. “As you can see, I am not a revenant.”

Wynonna is full of rage which makes her cheeks turn red. This is not the first time Peacemaker has refused her command to fire. She figures if she cannot shoot this bitch, she can at least knock her the fuck out. So, taking the barrel in her hand, the heir raises the butt end to strike the irreverent woman but is stopped short. “Uh, Wynonna, you do not want to go down that road with me. You’ve seen the video footage; you know what I am capable of.”

At this point even the patient Dolls has had enough and reaches out to grab Mac by the shoulder. Stepping forward, she whips around thrusting her hands toward the two of them blasting both with a small but powerful ball of blue energy. They are flung back to the doors of Shorty’s landing on the sidewalk disoriented and befuddled. Keeping her distance, Mac drops her hands to show she is not an enemy, “I am not here to hurt any of you, Wynonna. In fact, I am here to help you. Ask Peacemaker why I’m here.”

Wynonna tries to shake the cobwebs out of her brain and manages to say through gritted teeth, “Um, if you haven’t noticed, it’s a frickin’ gun and can’t talk!” Still feeling the effects of the energy pulse, she reaches up to rub the base of her skull. Dolls, who slammed into the door with a little more force, is on his hands and knees trying to collect his wits by shaking his head.

Mac continues in a nonchalant manner, “OK, well, you’re right, there…not so much in words, but it does communicate. Remember when Hypnos put the whole town to sleep and Peacemaker woke you up?”

As Dolls sits back on his butt and leans against the door with head in hands, he and Wynonna are taken aback that Mac has knowledge of this incident. “What the fudge? How the hell do you know about _that_?” Wynonna asks incredulously.

Not skipping a beat, the Highlander carries on, “I can’t answer that until _you_ have a chat with your gun. It will show you images in response to your questions. Just think of what you want to know and it will respond. In the meantime, I’ll bid you both good afternoon. We’ll meet again when you’re ready to hear what I have to say.” Mac promptly mounts her bike and rides away leaving them still somewhat groggy and confused.

Wynonna mimics the mystery woman and mimes, _bid you both good afternoon._ “Holy shit, Dolls, she’s as creepy as…”

Dolls flatly finishes her sentence, “…Juan Carlo.”

“Yeah! And why wouldn’t Peacemaker let me shoot her?”

Shrugging Dolls replies, “I don’t know. Maybe you should take her suggestion and ask.”

In disbelief Earp asks, “You’re not serious, are you?”

Without a change of expression, Dolls just stares back at her and gestures towards the gun since he has no other explanation to offer. Wynonna huffs, “Fine! I’ll ask the friggin’ gun.” She thinks for a moment then squeezes her eyes in mock concentration. Her face softens as jaw muscles unclench when she is awed by the clarity of the visions in her mind; the images are of Mac along with a feeling of comfort and security.

Haught pulls up in her cruiser screeching to a halt. Excitedly, she asks, “Where is she? Did I miss the party?”

“Yeah, you’re just a minute too late. She blasted us with some crazy blue light and left,” says Dolls as he rubs his head one more time.

“Why didn’t you go after her?” Nicole frowns in disappointment.

He replies as he begins to get up brushing himself off, “We were sort of dazed for a minute or two.”

Noticing Wynonna, the redhead says, “Uh, _what_ is she doing?”

Casually he responds, “Talking to Peacemaker.”

Even for Purgatory, this is not the norm and Nicole is a bit confused, “I’m sorry, what?”

Dolls spreads his hands out and nods as if to say, _Yes, she really is talking to her gun._ To Wynonna, “Well?”

“You are not going to believe this. The damn gun can talk errm communicate.” As she reaches for Dolls’ outstretched hand to help her up, Wynonna holsters the pistol.

Dolls asks, “So, what did it say?”

“It shows images to make its point. I saw that woman surrounded by blue light, but I also felt kinda warm and safe.”

Suddenly, Dolls is angry as he realizes, “Dammit, we didn’t even get her name! How did she know Doc’s name? And yours?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I teased the introduction between Mac and Wynonna for this chapter, but I didn't say it was a formal introduction. Things didn't go smoothly, but when do they ever when Wynonna Earp is involved? Looks like we have to wait a little longer for that face to face meeting between the Highlander and the heir.
> 
> Many thanks to @New54321 for the suggestions and patience with my insecurities about this chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since the incident with the mystery woman at Shorty’s, Wynonna has been grumpier than usual. This stranger has left her feeling on edge, but she cannot explain why which makes her even more irritable. As much as Wynonna wants to dislike, distrust, and dispose of this woman, Wynonna cannot come up with a plausible reason as to why she should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and coming back to see what's happening with Mac and Wynonna. 
> 
> Many thanks to @New54321 for her editing skills and being able to understand my vision of this storyline.

**Since the incident with the mystery woman at Shorty’s, Wynonna has been grumpier than usual. This stranger has left her feeling on edge, but she cannot explain why which makes her even more irritable. Maybe it’s because this woman knows private details about Wynonna and her team. Maybe it’s because she knows about Alice. Maybe it’s because Wynonna knows nothing about this woman which is making her feel extremely vulnerable. To compound the situation, she begins receiving text messages from an unknown number.**

Wynonna is at BBD with Dolls going over the day’s cases. When her phone chimes indicating she has received a new message, she glances down at the number and does not recognize it. She almost deletes the message, but a nagging push in the farthest corners of her mind suggests she opens it instead. Even though this goes against her instincts, she clicks it.

Mac: _Are you ready to talk? Time is of the essence._

Wynonna reads the text then scrunches her face up in annoyance.

She replies: _Who is this?_

Mac: _We sort of met at Shorty’s the other day. Peacemaker seems to like me._

Realizing who the sender is, she quickly becomes even more irritated than she already was: _Oh yeah. **YOU**. _

The whoosh for message sent barely finishes sounding as she angrily pecks out another and hits send: _How did you get this number?_

Mac: _That doesn’t really matter right now. All that matters is that we meet to talk and soon._

Not satisfied with this response, Wynonna lets her feelings be known: _You are creepy AF._

Mac: _I mean you no harm. Did you talk to PM?_

Mumbling aloud, she says, “Are you kidding me with this shit?”

Hearing this, Dolls asks, “Who are you talking to?”

She ignores his question, frowns at the phone screen, and types out: _You’ve nicknamed my gun??? WTF_

Mac: _Well, yeah. And I’m trying to save time. Did you?_

Approaching her breaking point, Wynonna’s patience is running thin. No concrete information has been given and she needs answers. Her better judgement is screaming at her to not engage in this conversation any further. However, that feeling in her mind has grown stronger. It is friendly along with inviting; this gives Wynonna the impression that she is safe. Minutes pass as she mulls over what to do. Logic is telling her to walk away; instinct, on the other hand, is telling her to stay.

A new text from Mac buzzes Wynonna back into focus: _I know you talked to PM, because I can feel it._

She knows there is no other response to make if she wants to get the information she needs. Wynonna runs her hand through her hair, sighs and replies: _All right, fine, yes! I asked my frickin’ gun about you._

She is not pleased at conceding this point and scowls while she awaits the next message. To herself she grumbles, “Bitch, you’re gonna feel a whole lot more like this fuckin’ gun up your ass sideways if you don’t start making sense.”

When Dolls hears this, he presses harder for Wynonna to answer. “Earp! What the hell is going on?”

This time she answers him, “That crazy bitch who’s looking for Mama managed to get my number somehow. She’s texting me right now!” Wynonna shakes her phone at him to emphasize her exasperation.

Dolls starts to respond, but she cuts him off by waving her hand, “Shhhh,” as if he is interrupting the text conversation.

Mac: _And what did it show you?_

Although Wynonna’s thumbs are poised to reply, they do not move. Her forehead creases in aggravation as she feels like Mac is playing a game, one which she refuses to continue because the rules have not been explained. And she does not yet trust this woman.

Mac _: Stop being stubborn and answer the question._

Frustration is mounting in Wynonna as she wants to gain control of the situation but cannot. She growls as she replies: _It showed me images of your stupid face with this blue light around you._ Then she sticks her tongue out at the phone.

Mac: _And how did it make you feel?_

Rolling her eyes and exhaling audibly, she realizes she must play Mac’s game to get to the bottom of this. _Ugh, this is too effin’ weird. How do you KNOW this?_

Mac: _Just answer the question. How did it make you feel?_

Wynonna: _Warm…_

Mac: _And?_

Wynonna: _Safe._

Mac: _Excellent!!! That means I am in!!! PM loves me!!!_

Wynonna: _Now just hold on a minute, you psycho shit ticket, that doesn’t mean a damn thing!_

Mac: _Are you ready to meet with me? I cannot afford to waste a lot of time and you really don’t have any other choice._

“Don’t have any other choice, my ass,” she mutters. “I’ll give her a choice…”

Dolls disrupts her grumbling, “What does she want, Wynonna?”

“She wants to meet with me.”

Immediately, he begins shaking his head no. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We know nothing about her.”

Again, Wynonna hesitates to respond. She does not like to lose and dislikes being told what to do even less. What is more, she needs time to consider possible ramifications of agreeing to meet this mystery woman and how it could affect everyone else. Will it put anyone in danger? Finally, she decides to change the gameplay by using a direct course of action: _Are you a demon?_

Mac: _NO!_

Wynonna: _How do I know that?_

Mac: _If I were, PM would have let you shoot me, right?_

Wynonna shakes her head in agreement and asks: _Then what ARE you???_

_Mac: I am a who not a what and I’ll explain all that when we meet face to face._

Mac: _I know Dolls is right there and he’s saying no to this idea._

Wynonna: _Still being creepy_. Then she tells Dolls, ”She knows you’re here next to me. How does she DO that?”

Mac: _You’ll get used to it._

Wynonna fakes gagging in response to this text.

Mac: _Here’s my offer-I’ll meet you at the homestead with your whole team there as back up-including Jeremy. The one stipulation is that I talk to you only._

Not waiting for a response, Mac sends one more message: _Think about it._

The conversation ends with no reply from Wynonna. Knowing she needs to share this with the team and get input from everyone, she calls for a meeting at BBD. Once all have gathered, they discuss what to do about the stranger’s offer.

Dolls begins the discussion, “Wynonna, how can you even be considering this? We don’t know anything about this person or if she is working with someone or what her objective is.” His suspicious nature always serves him well in keeping the team intact.

“Yeah, I know, but something in my gut is telling me to do this,” she tells him. Dolls’ nonverbal reply to her gut is a disapproving sneer.

Waverly adds, “Let’s think about this, guys. She said she would meet with you on the homestead. If she is a demon, she can’t get on the property. Surely, she knows this since she knows Peacemaker won’t kill her.”

Nicole continues, “If we’re all there, we can protect Wynonna.”

“But how do we defend against that sapphire emission she used to slam you two (pointing to Dolls and Wynonna) against Shorty’s front door?” Jeremy asks.

“I think that was some type of energy pulse, Jeremy,” comments Dolls, “and probably can’t take all of us out in one blast.”

Doc adds his opinion, “If you do not talk to her, we cannot ascertain what it is that she wants with your mother. It is a calculated risk I think you should take.”

With chin in hand Wynonna considers all that has been said carefully. “I’m still not sure,” she states uncertainly. Although she does not like this woman, she does not quite hate her either.

Then Wynonna’s phone chimes with the first of two text messages.

Mac: _I promise I will not hurt any of you. I would die protecting all of you._

Mac: _Especially Alice._

Reading the texts, Wynonna drops her phone on the table as the color drains from her face. The mention of Alice has created a storm of emotions she was not prepared to deal with. Like a lump in her throat, the guilt of sending her daughter away rises quickly. She stomps out of the room saying, “No fucking way!” and is followed quickly by her sister who grabs the phone as she goes.

Waverly shouts, “Hey, Wynonna, wait!”

The elder Earp goes to the first empty room she sees which is the breakroom; she is visibly shaking and muttering incoherently with her face in her hands. Waverly finds her sister there and grabs Wynonna’s hands trying to calm her.

The younger Earp’s face shows her worry as the lines around her eyes crinkle in concern. “What is going on? What has you so spooked?”

Stammering, Wynonna tells Waverly, “R-Read the last two texts, Waves.”

As Waverly reads the messages, her eyes widen in shock. “A-a-alice? How does she know about Alice?”

The protective instincts for her daughter kick in when her face becomes hard as stone. Wynonna comes to her senses her eyes turning an icy blue as she coldly says, “I don’t know, but when I find out, I am going to kick someone’s ass!”

The moment is punctuated by another incoming message and Waverly feels a slight sensation in the recesses of her mind.

Mac: _Waverly, hug your sister tightly and tell her that you can trust me because I know you can feel it._ Shaken by this Waverly drops the phone as if it has suddenly become white hot.

In a leery tone Wynonna asks, “Holy shit, what now, Waves?”

“She just called me by name and told me to hug you. How the hell did she know my name or that I was holding your phone?” But in that instant, the sensation quickly grows warmer and seems to calm Waverly.

Grabbing the phone, Wynonna says, “See! This is ranking up there with I know what you did last summer weird and I’ve had enough!”

Suddenly, Waverly’s facial expression softens and she reaches for her sister. “Wynonna, wait. She’s right. We are all going to be safe and we can trust her. You should meet with her.” Waverly wraps her arms around Wynonna who is surprised by this sudden change of heart.

“Waves! What has gotten into you? Did you touch the goo again?”

Smiling and laughing, she says, “Nooo!!!! I just feel like there’s nothing to worry about.” That feeling she is referring to continues growing warmer and stronger as it comforts her.

Suspiciously, Wynonna suggests, “Like a cozy safe wrapped up in a warm blanket feeling?”

“Yeah, exactly like that.”

“But how do we know this isn’t some kind of voodoo hex magic, Waves? This bitch could be a witch puttin’ a spell on us and we’d never know.”

“I can’t put it into words, Wynonna, I just KNOW we’ll be all right especially if we are together. Besides, we’ll never get any answers about Mama otherwise.”

Still in the embrace of her sister, Wynonna ponders Waverly’s words. In a moment she connects the dots and gives in to her intuition or rather that gentle prodding in her brain. “That’s how I feel, too, dammit. OK, Baby Girl, let’s hope that our instincts are right and set this up.”

They return to the group where Wynonna tells the team she has decided to accept the invitation to meet with Mac. There are minor protests and grumblings of disagreement, but everyone knows that arguing with Wynonna once she has made up her mind is futile.

She then responds to Mac’s text.

Wynonna: _Ok, creepy stalker, I’ll meet with you at the homestead tomorrow morning at 9. Be there or be dead._

Mac: _Excellent! I’ll be there!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, Chapter 5 will deliver the much anticipated face to face meeting between Mac and Wynonna. Then we can really get down to business!

**Author's Note:**

> Well, you made it this far. Thanks for reading the whole chapter. What do you think of our Highland warrior? Do you think she's going to fit in with the gang? Will Wynonna like her? Exactly what are her gifts? And how the hell did Peacemaker "beckon" Treva to Purgatory in the first place? It's a gun for cryin' out loud! I hope you're taking a liking to MacGregor and will be back to see what happens in chapter 2. Please let me know what you think in the comments or maybe just leave a kudo.


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